Repercussions
Chapter 2
Sark was just getting out of his car to go back into the club when he heard the gunshots. He froze, listening as people screamed bloody murder. He pulled out his gun, his back to the side of the building. Back door. He edged himself back, and started off for the back of the club. Fuck, he had a bad feeling. He slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. Flipping it open, he dialed a number.
"I need a car at my location," he spoke into the phone quietly. "Somebody came for the package." He hung up. He was in front of the back door now, and he smirked at their obvious stupidity. No guards at the back door? He opened the door slowly, empty. He walked in, slowly making his way past the kitchen and to the door that entered into the club. There was a window on the door. He looked out.
His eyes widened at what he was seeing. Marshall Flinkman, the tech guy for the CIA was standing, aiming a gun at the men who had Sydney cornered. He almost smirked. Almost. Then he saw, and heard, Sydney scream for Marshall to get down when the men opened fire on him. He watched as Marshall fell down, then his attention went to Sydney, who dove for her gun, and started firing at the men. He wretched open the door when he saw that. The men opened fire on her also.
He ran out, pulling another gun out of his coat. He fired at the men, whose backs were to him. Each of his bullets hit its mark; then he dove for cover and landed behind something before they turned and fired back. He turned, firing again. Five to go. He then noticed he had dove behind a small bar. He stared at the open alcohol bottles for a moment.
He grabbed two bottles, and found a rag on a shelf, which he ripped apart. He opened the bottles and stuffed the rags in them. He looked around for a lighter, but didn't see one. Fuck. Something caught his eye, or rather, someone. The bartender, who was dead, was laying only a couple of feet from him. Crawling, he made it over and searched through the man's pockets.
Bingo.
He pulled the lighter out of the man's left pocket and scrambled back to the bottles of alcohol. He light each one, watching as the flames came to life startlingly fast. He grabbed the bottles, took a deep breath, and threw them over the bar as hard as he could. He heard one crash and land, and he heard a man cry out as a bottle hit him. Sark stood up, guns in hands, and started firing.
She was walking down a white hall. No windows, and only one door, which she was walking towards. She glanced down at herself. She was wearing black op gear. She came to a stop in front of the door. She opened it.
She was outside, green grass, blue skies. She heard a voice, a little girl. She was singing.
"Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!" The girl was spinning around, and fell down as she spoke the last line. She looked up at Sydney. "Silly Sydney, you have to fall down!" Sydney's body fell, she tried to grab something, but there was nothing.
She was on a mountain.
A man was standing only feet from her. He turned around, smiling at her.
"Sydney, my dear," he said, motioning to a table and chairs that appeared to the side of them. "Sit down." She walked over and sat down, watching as he did the same.
"Am I dead?" She asked the question quietly.
"Yes. No." He shrugged. "They are just words. What do they mean?"
"I don't know."
"Do you know who I am, Sydney?" He asked, pouring himself some tea from the glass teapot on the table. She nodded.
"Milo Rambaldi." He nodded as well, sipping his tea.
"That I am." He said. "Do you know why you are here?"
"No." She spoke, frowning. "Yes…I, I failed."
"In what?" He asked.
"I don't…I don't remember."
"You know, Sydney." He said, setting his teacup down. "It's here," he pointed to his head, "and here," he pointed to his heart.
"But I don't…I failed..." she whispered, confused.
"You try, you fail. You try, you fail. But the only real failure is when you stop trying, Sydney." He said this in a singsong voice, then stood up, and walked to the edge of the mountain.
"But what am I trying?" She asked, walking over to him.
"To live, Sydney." He said with a smile, wrapping his hand around her left wrist. "You are trying to live."
"But I'm dead…" She trailed off, unsure.
"Are you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't—" She stopped, clutching her chest as a sharp pain rang through it. She looked up at him. "What are you doing to me?" She whispered, falling to the ground in pain.
"I am letting you try again, Sydney." He said. He smiled at her and dove off the side of the mountain. Before she could even comprehend what had just happened, she clutched her chest again in pain. She fell onto her back, screaming.
Somewhere in Japan…
"Clear!" Sark gripped the gun in his hand tighter when he heard the doctor shout again. His eyes were focused on the blue tile floor as he sat in an uncomfortable green plastic chair. After getting Sydney, he had carried her to his car and driven straight here. No hospitals. Never hospitals, no matter what.
He had come barging in, an almost dead Sydney in his arms, yelling for the doctor.
The doctor had told him he didn't take walk-ins. Sark had put his gun to the man's head and told him he did now. The man agreed and had one of his assistants help him carry Sydney into another room.
That had been two hours ago. The doctor told him she had been shot once in the left arm, and one had nicked her on the side. She'd lost a lot of blood. He wasn't sure…
"She dies," Sark had gritted out, his gun against the man's forehead, "you die." The doctor had nodded, and was now trying to save not only Sydney's life, but his own as well.
Sark slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the lighter he had nabbed off the dead bartender. It was a Zippo lighter, silver with a cross on it. Why had he kept it? He hadn't even realized he had kept it until he had set Sydney down and it had fallen out of his pocket. He almost threw it out. Almost. Why should he keep it? Despite his thoughts, he put it back it his pocket.
Maybe he would start smoking.
No.
He hated the smell.
"There's no pulse." The nurse spoke, glancing outside the room at the blond man holding the gun. She swallowed hard. She believed him when he said he would kill the doctor. He would probably kill her to if the woman died. She turned back to the doctor. He met her eyes, nodded once.
"Clear!" He shouted again, placing the pads of the defibrillator onto the woman's chest again. Her body jumped as the shock went through it. The nurse glanced at the heart monitor, almost jumping with joy when she read it.
"She's got a pulse!" Sark's head snapped up when he heard the nurse shout. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He stood and walked into the room, coming to stand next to the doctor.
"She'll be ok?" He asked, glancing down at the pale and bloody form of Sydney Bristow.
"Now that we've got her stable," the doctor replied, "She'll make it."
"When can we leave?" He asked, already pulling out his phone.
"Leave?" The doctor asked, shocked. "You can't take her anywhere—"
"Have her ready in an hour." Sark replied, exciting the room. He walked down the hall, and stopped once he rounded the corner. His back hit the wall and he slid down it, coming to a rest on the floor. His head went into his hands. He breathed in, exhaling out slowly.
She was alive.
TBC…